I Mean, You're Welcome
by staymagical
Summary: A collection of 500-2,000 word oneshots and answered themes. Anything from H/C, angst, tradegy, fluff, modern au, anything really. UPDATE: Ch 6 The Hunger Games
1. Desperation

**A/N: **So me and my two friends have come up with a collection of 99 of the most random, crazy, stupid themes we could possibly invent. This has now become the place where I put all the themes I answer (we are trading off). So the titles are the theme I was given and they have to be at least 500 words. The first is a pretty standard but the rest...not so much. Hehehehe. They can be anything from angst to drama, fluff to h/c, canon era to modern au...anything really. So let's have some fun, shall we? With no further ado...here's the first one. Enjoy!

**Title: **Desperation

**Words: **513

**Warnings:** Character death, suicide

******Disclaimer:** I unfortunately do not own Merlin (sobs)

**Summary: **Merlin's had enough. Canon-verse (but AU sorta)

* * *

_Drip_

It hadn't gone according to plan. Not in the slightest.

Nothing could have prepared him for the stone-faced looks he got, the biting orders he received, the pure cold indifference that radiated from his king every second Merlin was in his presence. He tried to tell himself it would get better, that the shock of discovering his secret would blow over and things would go back to the way they had always been.  
_Drip_  
It didn't. It hadn't.  
It had been almost two years now.  
Arthur had turned cold and nasty, lashing out every second he got, yelling in his anger at every mistake made, every comment given. Gone was the sympathetic ruler, the open-minded prince that once walked these halls. In his place was a cruel tyrant king, now a perfect image of his father. But the kingdom never saw this, no ever saw this. No one but Merlin.  
He was the reason for the king's anger so it was only fair that he take the cruelty away from others. The blows and the physical consequences he could handle. It was the words spit out in fits of rage and resentment that cut him deep, deeper than any blade ever could. So deep that he knew he would never fully heal. Words that would scar his heart forever.  
_Drip_  
He knew he had changed too. His carefree, genuine smiles were now forced and strained. Laughing was behind his capabilities as his humor had all but disappeared. Then there were the bruises and lacerations that constantly marred his body. But those could be easily ignored. It was the dark cloud that seemed to follow him wherever he went that overshadowed all other pains, filling his mind with the harsh words and stings that were launched at him daily by his king. It seemed most days they were all he heard. He was nothing but an empty shell now, a ghost that wandered the halls unseen and unheard.  
_Drip_  
But Albion had come to be. Even the reveal of his magic had not hindered destiny. The kingdoms joined together with Arthur leading them toward a time of peace and prosperity, a time that was now upon them all. So why hadn't destiny let go of him? Why did he still feel the pull of fate?  
_Drip_  
Why couldn't he just be left alone? Destiny was fulfilled wasn't it? So why did it still hold him in its suffocating grip, poking and prodding at him until his hope and will bled dry. His partner in destiny, his best friend, his king didn't care for him anymore, couldn't even stand the sight of him so why couldn't destiny just leave him be.  
_ Drip_

He didn't want to do this anymore.

_Drip_

Couldn't do this anymore.

_Drip_

Wouldn't.

_Drip_

He just wanted to escape. He wanted to relief from the heartache, the pain, destiny. He wanted to be free.

Merlin closed his eyes as the darkness encroached.

_Drip_

And he now he would be.  
_Drip_

The knife clattered to the floor as his body went limp.

**THE END**


	2. Breakfast

**Title:** Breakfast

**Warnings:** None

**Words: **753

**Summary: **Merlin's stomach is annoying and Arthur is amused and then...nice? Canon-verse

* * *

"Arthur. Arthur wake up." Merlin yanked on the heavy drapes, letting bright sunlight flood into the chamber. "Come on. I've got breakfast. Bread, cheese, and-look! Sausages! Your favorite."

A sleepy groan was emitted from the mound of covers situated haphazardly on the large bed. Merlin grinned as he strode over and proceeded to deprive the prince of his cocoon, jerking hard on the fabric until it pooled on the floor. "Come on, sleepy head. If I have to be up this early, so do you."

Arthur rolled over and gifted the young warlock with his best annoyed glare.

"That's the spirit," he stated cheerily, extracting the prince's clothes from the wardrobe before tossing them on the bed and practically manhandling the prince from the bed and into them.

"Merlin. Merlin! Alright–I'm up!"

Once the prince was dressed and decent enough, he sat down heavily at the table and began tucking in. Merlin began wandering around the room picking up discarded clothing and replacing the bedsheets. He reached down, noticing one of Arthur's shirts poking out from under the bed, and discovered the hidden collection of dirty abandoned clothing that littered the floor under the prince's bed. Merlin sighed before slithering under to toss the clothing out.

His stomach gave an irritating growl. He had barely gotten up in time to rush off and wake up the prince, skipping breakfast himself and running into three separate servants in his haste to fetch the prince's breakfast and wake him up in time. It was a miracle he had woken up at all this morning. Arthur had given him a long list of chores that had him running about until the wee hours of the morning, washing this and doing that in preparation for the arrival of some stuck up nobles from some far off kingdom somewhere. He really couldn't care less. It affected his sleep and therefore was a nuisance.

"–Merlin."

Merlin started, smacking his head on the bed frame as he was reaching for a particularly stubborn sock that had somehow made its way to the far side.

"What!" he snapped, extracting himself from the small space and sitting back on his heels. He rubbed his head with a wince, eyes watering as his head throbbed slightly. That was definitely going to leave a bump.

"Come here."

Merlin flashed the prince a questioning look before slowly getting up off the floor. He plopped himself down into the chair beside Arthur.

"Here," Arthur pushed the remaining food toward the young warlock. "Eat."

Merlin glanced at the plate of half-eaten food skeptically. "Whyyyy?" he asked, drawing out the word.

"Because _Mer_lin, I can hear your stomach roaring like a wild animal. I'm sure the entire kingdom can hear it. Now eat, before that animal in you decides to eat its host." He shoved the food further toward the young warlock.

The skepticism didn't leave Merlin's face. "You didn't poison it? It's not foul, rotten, badly spiced, or god forbid, cold?" He poked a sausage as though it would bite his finger off. "Are you sick? Drink too much mead? Dying?!"

A look of amused annoyance flared on the prince's face. He rolled his eyes. "Really Merlin, just eat it before I change my mind." A feeling of affection spread through the young warlock. He could tell Arthur was trying to hide his concern behind a mask of annoyance, but Merlin saw right through it. Deep down, the prince really did care.

"Well, just remember, if I die there will be nobody around to polish your boots." Merlin smirked before taking a bite of sausage. Arthur broke off a piece of bread from the plate, munching on it while the young warlock chowed down. He finished off the plate in no time, licking his fingers clean. Definitely one of the best meals he had ever had. He looked at the empty plate longingly.

Arthur chuckled. "Good?" Merlin nodded. "Good. Now go finish your chores. Our guests should be arriving this afternoon and I expect everything to be ready by then."

"Yes, sire," Merlin said, with no hint of sarcasm or mocking in his tone. He gathered up the empty plate, balanced it on top the dirty laundry he had collected from around the room before striding toward the door with his charge. Just before he closed the door, he looked back at Arthur, who was staring down at the table, deep in thought.

"Arthur." The prince glanced up. Merlin flashed him a caring smile. "Thank you."

**THE END**


	3. Breakdancing

**A/N: **I had so much trouble with this theme. Couldn't think of ANYTHING to write for the longest time. I thought of ideas for the next three of my other upcoming themes but not this one. But finally I just sat down and started writing and this little baby of a story popped out. Enjoy!

**Title:** Breakdancing

**Warnings:** homelessness

**Words: **1,047

**Summary: **There's a street dancer in his space and Arthur is no amused...yet. Modern!AU

* * *

"You're nothing but a street dancer," Arthur laughed. "No coordination, no discipline. I doubt you would be able to keep up." He glanced at the slight boy before him. Merlin wore a pair of jeans that had seen better days and could not have been easy to dance in. His arms were folded across a black t-shirt that was faded and worn around the hem. Eyebrow cocked, dark hair ruffled, and the beginning of a smirk playing out upon his face, Merlin looked every part the break dancer he was. But he wasn't a proper dancer, not in Arthur's eyes. He probably couldn't follow steps, instruction, anything. Nothing but a lowly break dancer living on the streets.

"Challenge accepted."

"What?" Arthur asked, confusion flashing across his face.

"I accept your challenge," Merlin said with a nod.

"What challenge? I didn't—"

"You don't think I'll be able to keep up with you," Merlin pointed out, giving Arthur a sidelong glance. "Well let's just put that to the test." His face broke out into a sly grin. "And why not make it more interesting. If you win, I'll leave and never come back. You can continue to practice your discipline and coordination in peace and serenity. But if I win, you have to share the space from now on. And maybe not mention my presence here." Even with that last request, Merlin's confident demeanor never wavered.

The space in question was an old practice room at the back of the dance studio on the edge of the Arts University Arthur attended. It was currently being used as storage and obviously completely forgotten. Arthur had found it purely by chance when seeking a place to practice as all the other spaces were taken. But when he had stumbled into the room and seen the boxes and old dance mats and equipment, he knew he had found something that was purely his own. That is until he was interrupted 5 minutes after the discovery of the room by a shabby looking kid climbing through the window, asking why Arthur was in his space. Like this kid had every right to be there and hadn't just climbed through the window like some common robber. He had recognized the kid, having seen him lurking around on the streets on the outskirts of campus, clustered among his fellow street dancers as they took turns showing off their skills or battling each other for dominance. He had even watched Merlin breakdance, his movements and expressions aerobic and fluid, leading effortlessly from one to the other. He was good, great even, clearly a force to be reckoned with in his own style.

It was obvious that Merlin had been coming here for some time now. Even living here if the blanket covering an old dance mat and few personal belongings he spotted in the corner were anything to go by. But he wasn't a student, that Arthur knew when he had looked him up out of sheer curiosity.

"But you're not even allowed to be here!"

Merlin let out a barking laugh. "Never stopped me before."

"I could just report you, you know."

"And where's the fun in that? Unless…" Merlin paused, staring at Arthur before breaking out into another grin. "You're afraid of being shown up by some street kid!" he said knowingly.

"No, that is definitely not it."

"You are! I would think this school would have taught you better than that. Where's your confidence? Arrogance? Pompous pratishness?"

Arthur crossed his arms, on the defensive now. "All still intact and well placed. I am perfectly capable of wiping the floor with your incompetence."

"Then prove it, Uni boy." The smirk never seemed to leave Merlin's face.

Arthur moved then, gliding in a sequence of simple movements until he was face to face with Merlin then back again, gaining intricacy in form as he dragged the boy with him into the challenge. Merlin mimicked him, keeping in time and tempo, but not without adding his own style and flare here or there. But it worked somehow. Their movements wove and twined together across the floor in perfect synchronicity, each in their own style but flowing easily with the others. They spun and slid and worked the floor until they ended circling one another before finally coming to a stop in the middle face to face, both breathless but neither willing to back down.

"I think I won" Merlin breathed, grinning with confidence.

"I don't think so, street rat."

"Ouch. Giving in to the insults already?" Merlin's grin only got wider. "Means you know I won."

"No it means you need to find another place to camp out."

"That wasn't the deal. I won, you gotta share. It was a fair deal, Uni boy."

"Yeah but I never agreed to it.," Arthur pointed out.

Merlin just stared at Arthur as he leaned back slightly and folded his arms across his chest, his grin fading but the amusement remaining in his deep blue eyes. "Then I'm not going anywhere."

"I can still go get security, you know."

"Go ahead." Merlin said, throwing his arms out wide in challenge. "I'll be gone by the time you get back and return by the time you leave for the day. Face it, you're stuck with me."

He said it with such conviction that Arthur could tell something like this had happened before. Threats, police, possibly even some jail time. He wondered how many places Merlin had broken into, just trying to find shelter and a corner to sleep in for the night. A wave of pity shot through him before he could squash it down and Arthur found himself wanting to relent just to ease the boy's suffering at least for a little while. He deflated like a balloon.

"Fine, stay. But if you get in my way, or distract me from my studies, I won't hesitate to get you kicked out."

"Yes, your royal pratness," Merlin responded with a grin topped off with a theatrical bow and everything.

Arthur couldn't help but smile back. He rather like this street rat with his airy confidence and stubborn attitude. They might just get along, despite their differences. Maybe this was the start of a whole new chapter in his life.

THE END

* * *

**A/N: **Hope you liked it! Sorry about any problems with description or anything...I know close to nothing about dancing soooooo...yeah. Next theme is *cough* seeeeeexxxxxxxxx (as my friend so lovingly gave me and yes she spelled it out just like that. Thanks Twin -_-). I can't write smut so don't expect that cause it isn't happening. Trust me...it wouldn't be good and I just...can't. Anyway review and the next shall be up...sometime. It may be a while seeing as its finals week coming up and school is important. But it shall be done! Until then...have fun be safe and don't die :D


	4. Seeeeeeexxxxxxxxxxxx

**A/N: **Finally got to my turn on our themes! Sorry it took so long but its here now...and longer than I anticipated. So apparently I'm bypassing the 2,000 word limit and heading straight for 3,000 but I think it needed the extra words. Anyway, here's the fic. MAJOR WARNINGS this time!

**Title: **Seeeeexxxxxxxx

**Words: **3,078

**Warnings:** Non-con (Light-ish. Nothing too graphic. I am unable to write it really and had a hard enough time with this), drunkenness (sure, lets call that a warning)

**Summary: **Gwaine's goal for the night is to get Merlin laid and of course it doesn't go according to plan. Canon-verse

* * *

"Sooooooo _Mer_lin," Gwaine drawled, his drunken gaze shooting Merlin a sly grin. His eyes were unfocused and moved with the slight sway that had taken over the knight's body. The servant looked sideways at the knight, wary. Nothing good ever came out of Gwaine's mouth when he began a sentence like that. Especially when the knight had had more than a few drinks which, Merlin mused, was basically all hours of the day. "You seem to disappear occasionally, sometimes for days." He winked and Merlin already knew what he was going to ask before the words left the drunken knight's mouth. "Got a special lass we ought to know about?"

Merlin shook his head. "Nope. No time what with all the chores and—"

"Good," Gwaine said, cutting off the young warlock as a sly grin spread across his face even further. He then turned and addressed the rest of the knights around the table. "Lads, I have decided the goal for tonight is to get our dear Merlin here laid."

The knights all chuckled in various stages of mirth and drunkenness. Except for Leon, who at that moment had taken a drink and was now currently choking on the liquid. Percival slapped him on the back a couple of times until the man had gotten his breath back.

"Laid?" Merlin asked, confusion marring his face as the dark haired knight threw back the rest of his drink and slammed the empty stein down upon the table.

"It means seeeeeeexxxxxxxxxxxx," Gwaine slurred ending the extended word with a hiccup.

The young warlock immediately blushed, dropping his gaze to stare into his half-full mug. Gwaine laughed at his reaction, slapping the young warlock on the back with a wink before stumbling to his feet to put his plan into action. Merlin groaned. This can't be good.

The next hour was spent with Gwaine staggering up to every woman, charming her brains out then sending them Merlin's way. Thankfully, the tavern they were currently residing in was lacking in the female variety and Merlin only had to engage in a few extremely awkward conversations ending in gentle rejections on his part. After the third and final one, Merlin caught up to Gwaine and laid a hand upon his shoulder.

"I think it's time to call it a night Gwaine," Merlin said, steadying the knight as he swayed drunkenly.

"Awww come on Merlin. Not yet," Gwaine pouted. "I haven't achieved my goal for tonight." He made to step away and would have fallen head first into the nearest table if Merlin hadn't held on firmly to the knight. The young warlock sighed, slipping on of Gwaine's arms across his shoulders in order to bear some the knight's almost dead weight.

"No, I think you've had enough fun for one night," Merlin chided, mockingly. "Let's get you back." Gwaine only gave a huff of disappointment but didn't protest further as the two made their way toward the exit. Merlin gave the remaining knights a nod, letting them know he was taking Gwaine back to the knight's chambers, before striding out the door and into the cool night air.

"You're a good friend, Merlin," Gwaine slurred. The young warlock just chuckled lightly as he hefted the knight further over his shoulder.

The duo staggering through the lower town, Gwaine mumbling incoherent nonsense while Merlin took more and more of the knight's weight as they maneuvered between houses toward the castle. About half-way to the castle, the young warlock was forced to stop and rest as Gwaine's weight started dragging him down. He lowered the knight gently to the ground, leaning Gwaine back against the wall of a shop so he wasn't lying in the dirt. Even drunk and obviously unaware the man deserved to be treated with some respect. The knight's eyes were closed, but a small smile still graced his lips.

Merlin stood, breathing heavily from the trek. Knights were heavy, even without the chainmail and armor.

The sound of uneven footsteps caused Merlin's head to snap up in the direction of a nearby alleyway. He could just make out the shape of four shadowy figures within its depths making their way toward where he stood, Gwaine still slumped against the building at his feet.

"Come on Gwaine," Merlin said, crouching in front of the knight and tapping him lightly on the cheek to rouse him. "Time to move on." Gwaine groaned unhappily, turning his head away from the young warlock. But he didn't attempt to get up or even make any outward signs that he had understood what Merlin had said. Not good.

Merlin glanced over his shoulder toward the approaching men. Uneasiness swept through his body. It wasn't exactly ideal to be caught out here in the middle of the night let alone burdened with a very drunken unresponsive knight. But there was no way he was going to leave Gwaine out here to his own devices.

Sighing in frustration, Merlin threw Gwaine's arm over his should and attempted to heft the knight upwards. But the man was dead weight now, completely unhelpful in Merlin's endeavors to get him home and the young warlock was forced to abandon the task before they both toppled over and got hurt.

"Oh, hey what do we have here," a voice drawled from behind Merlin. The young warlock turned around, a mask of easy going confidence slipping over his face as the gnawing anxiety only intensified. Four men stood before him. Two were large and burly, easily twice the girth of Merlin himself, the third was thinner but still tall and bulky while the fourth was short and stout. All four seemed a little unsteady on their feet, two swaying slightly and Merlin could smell the alcohol that permeated from the group. So they had been hitting the cups too. Great. Just his luck really.

The one at the forefront, one of the large burly men who had no doubt been the one to speak, had an unidentifiable look plastered across his unkempt face. He scrutinized the young warlock, eyes traveling up and down his body in a way that made Merlin shiver with uneasiness. He really didn't like the way this situation was unfolding. Not one bit. He mentally shouted at Gwaine to wake up already. But of course, the knight made no acknowledgment that he had heard the young warlock's plea.

"Looks like a little lost servant," the thinner man responded, a sneer marring his face. He took a step forward and Merlin pushed down the instinct to take a step back himself. He stood his ground instead, trying to keep his face from showing the slight fear he felt. "Whatcha ya doing out here, boy?"

"Just taking my friend here back to his chambers," Merlin said, gesturing to the still unaware Gwaine behind him. All four men's eyes flicked over the knight quickly. The short man let out a chuckle at the sight then looked back up at the young warlock.

"Out cold, he is," the man stated.

"Not gonna be much help," one of the large men added.

The four men looked at one another before they lunged as one toward the young warlock. Merlin yelped in surprise and jumped back only to trip over Gwaine's feet, sending him sprawling out on the dirt.

The men were on him in an instant, grabbing his arms and hauling him to his feet, even as his struggled wildly. His magic roared in his blood, rushing to come to his aid, but Merlin squashed it down. He couldn't afford to give up his secret, not even now. There was still a chance he could make it out of this by simpler means. He couldn't risk using his magic in front of others and having word reach Arthur. It would do more harm than good, especially with the threat of Morgana always hanging over the king's head. No. He would just have to find another way.

He called out to Gwaine, but a fist to his face cut it off short. His head whipped to the side with the force, leaving him stunned and dizzy. With the temporary lapse in movement from their captive, the men were able to drag him into the alleyway they had previously vacated. In a second, Merlin got his senses back and kicked, bucked and wriggled furiously in the men's grips, trying to gain any ground he could. But he knew it was hopeless. There were four of them, all stronger than him, even the shortest one.

He cried out as he was forced to his knees in the dark alleyway, still trying to wiggle free until a sharp kick to his stomach caused him to gasp and double over. His arms were pulled violently behind him and bound tightly. It only made Merlin squirm more.

"You keep fightin' us boy and it'll be a lot worse," the short one growled, punctuated with another kick, this time to his chest. The force would have sent him sprawling if the two large men hadn't been currently keeping him firmly in place on his knees. Pain lanced up Merlin's right side as he felt a rib give a little, but no crack was heard.

"Aw don't say that. I like it when they fight back. More fun that way." Merlin could practically hear the smirk in the large man's voice. A finger ran across his jaw line in a mockery of a loving touch. Merlin attempted to bite the damn thing off but it was snatched back at the last second. Another blow to the head followed and then a hand was in his hair, yanking his head back painfully so he was forced to stare at his attackers' faces. Not the best view, in Merlin's opinion.

"Now now, we can't have that. Be a good little servant. Otherwise, we may just move on to your intoxicated friend over there after we're done with you. Don't think he'd give much of a fight but we could make do." The thinner man had a menacing gleam in his eye as he spoke and a hostile grin flashed across his face. Merlin squashed the fear he felt for the knight and instead opted for glaring daggers at the large man above him. Poison-dipped sharp-as-a-razor daggers. But he lessened his struggles and just knelt there, trying to convey his defiance through his silence, breathing heavily and shaking in fear and anger. Whatever these men had planned he knew it couldn't be good. But he also wouldn't let them touch Gwaine, no matter what. He'd die before he let anything happen to his friend, especially in the knight's current vulnerable state.

"That's what I thought. Good boy." The man released his hair and tapped him sharply on the cheek twice.

"Come on! Let's do this already. I'm achin'!" The short man whined, reaching down to undo the laces of his breeches.

Merlin's mind froze in terror as his magic roared in his veins. No. No no no no no no. They were going to—_no_! He didn't want this, _didn't_ _want this_. Beatings, he'd take. Bruises, broken bones, concussions, lacerations, even hell, he'd take a stab wound. Anything but this. There was no coming back from this act of violation. No way to heal what has been broken once it had been shattered. It was the ultimate degradation, the ultimate form of torture. One that kept on giving throughout a lifetime. Always hanging over one's head, always following obediently behind.

Despite the men's threats, Merlin began struggling even harder than before. He almost managed to worm free, as he caught the large men off guard with his sudden surge of strength fueled by desperation. But another few punches and kicks subdued him quickly, his attempts at escape nothing more than weak tugs.

Meaty hands grasped his chin, painfully squeezing until his jaw opened under the pressure. He shook his head trying to dislodge the painful hold, but the movement only increases the sharp pounding in his skull and caused the grip to tighten. A whimper escaped his throat as the fingers dug in painfully, despite his attempts to swallow it down. He did not want to show weakness, to show how much he was hurting or how terrified he was. He could feel his magic surge back up to the surface, stronger and fiercer than before, pushing all the aches and pains to the background with its intensity. Every instinct in him screamed to release it, to let it take the looming horror away before it began.

It was then that Merlin found his mouth desecrated by the most foul and vile thing he had ever tasted and that included rotten vegetables and flyaway horse dung. He tried to pull away but someone twisted their hand in his hair and gripped it painfully to keep his head in place. The hand still squeezing his jaw prevented any biting or movement at all and he soon found himself choking and gagging at the invasion. But it was as his airways were suddenly obstructed and his panic escalated that the magic seemed to have had enough and broke down his now feeble barriers. Just before it burst out, the vile thing was yanked from his mouth and he was sent toppling over into the large man to his left holding him in place. His magic retreated slightly with the change in events and he quickly tied it back down.

The man yelled in anger and surprise and reversed the young warlock's momentum, violently throwing him to the ground. With his wrists still tied and unable to break his fall, Merlin's head collided with the hard ground with a crack and his vision blackened for a minute. He could feel himself gasping and coughing in turns as he tried to fill his lungs with sufficient air. The sounds of a scuffle could be heard in the background, but Merlin's focus was all but lost as he strived to breathe properly.

After a few moments, Merlin's vision returned gradually and he blinked a couple times to clear it. He was still gasping and breathily heavily but it was diminishing with every breath. It was then that his hearing picked up on the sound of his name. Someone was trying to get his attention.

"—Merlin. That's it, just breathe. In, out."

Gwaine.

The stress on his arms suddenly loosened as Merlin felt the ropes around his wrists fall away. He winced as pain rushed to the area but despite it he moved his arms to prop himself up off the ground. Hands grasped his shoulders gently and Merlin couldn't help flinching before he relaxed slightly and allowed them to help him sit up. The world tilted alarmingly with the change in position and his vision swam once more before righting itself, leaving a fierce headache in its place.

"Gods Merlin, I'm so sorry. I—this is all my fault. I shouldn't have—I didn't want—."

Gwaine cursed as Merlin turned the side and promptly threw up. Well, that got rid of one revolting taste but only succeeded in replacing it with another. Merlin groaned and wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve, wincing as the fabric brushed along his wrists where the ropes had cut in with every movement. Was there any part of his body that didn't hurt?

His throat felt sore, jaw ached, head pounded something terrible, and the rest of his body, especially the right side of his chest, throbbed with forming bruises. All in all, he felt terrible. And Gwaine was not helping with his chattering.

"You sobered up fast," Merlin rasped out in an attempt to put a stop to Gwaine's babbling of apologies. It worked like a charm.

A tentative smile formed on the knight's face. "What can I say? I have a soft spot for damsels in distress, even when in an intoxicated state."

"Not—" cough "—a damsel."

"Maybe not, but definitely in distress." The knight's expression suddenly became serious and he raked his gaze over the young warlock once more. "Alright, come on. Let's get you to Gaius."

Merlin nodded once, only realizing his mistake as he did so and the pounding in his head increased. Gwaine helped him to his feet, keeping a hold of the young warlock as he swayed dangerously with the change in height. The knight ducked under Merlin's arm, taking some of his weight, even as the knight himself was not entirely steady on his own feet.

"Well, this is a strange change of events. Normally you're the one dragging me home after a night in the tavern," Gwaine chuckled half-heartedly. Merlin could tell the knight was trying to lighten the situation with jokes and jibes and though they were poor ones, Merlin was grateful. He didn't really want to think about how close he had come to being—to losing it all. Even his secret. One more second and his magic would have burst free, effectively destroying his freedom and future in Camelot and destiny at Arthur's side.

As they began moving out of the alleyway, Merlin finally looked around him. Two of the men were sprawled on the ground, out cold, one with a trickle of blood seeping from his hairline. The other two men were nowhere in sight.

"Thank you," Merlin said, cursing at how his voice came out as barely more than a whisper. He tried to clear his throat, but it only resulted in several coughs.

"No Merlin, it is I who should apologize. I should not have—"

"Don't," Merlin interrupted. "You have nothing to apologize for. It wasn't your fault." Gwaine opened his mouth to protest but Merlin shut him up with a pointed look. "Not. At. All. So just stop."

Gwaine nodded, seeing the look in the young warlock's face and continued walking him in the direction of the castle.

Jokes, banter, and even anger he could handle. But the pity and concern that developed into apologies, not so much. Merlin wanted nothing more than to just go back to joking and laughing like they had been earlier that night. That and sleep. His head gave an incessant pound. Yeah, sleep sounded great right about now.

"You know Merlin, when I said I wanted to get you laid tonight, this is not what I had in mind."

Despite the raw subject of the joke, Merlin couldn't stop the chuckle that escaped his lips.

* * *

**A/N:** Well there you have it. Ummm, yeah I have determined I'm not very good at these types of fics. I would much rather just beat the crap out of a character (Merlin mainly) in other ways. Alright my next theme is GINGER'S ATTACKING. Lol should be interesting. Well, until next time have fun be safe and don't die :D


	5. Gingers Attacking

**Title: **Gingers Attacking

**Words: **2,702

**Warnings:** Abuse, Violence, Mutilation

******Disclaimer:** I unfortunately do not own Merlin (sobs)

**Summary: **Merlin is kidnapped by a group of mercenaries who enjoy making it difficult for him to escape and return to Arthur's side. Canon-verse

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His feet pounded over the earth, leaving an easy trail for anyone to follow. He didn't care, not at the moment at least. All that mattered was getting as far away as possible, as fast as possible. He did not want to be at the mercenaries' mercy any longer. Three days was long enough, thank you very much.

Three days since he had last seen Arthur, three days since he had been snatched up on the first night of their hunting trip by a band of mercenaries who it seemed took him as a result of nothing more than boredom. No demands had been made, no plans laid out, nothing. Entertainment seemed to be their only objective. And they had been enjoying themselves immensely.

The abuse had started almost immediately. Starting with a harsh blow to the head that had rendered him unconscious as he sat watch over his and Arthur's small camp. From then it had been long treks through the forest, being all but dragged behind the leader's horse (he only knew the man was the leader by the commands he gave because all four mercenaries in this little band were identical with flaming orange hair, stocky builds, and hardened jaws that only enhanced the sneers that seemed to permanently mar their faces) once he had woken up, hands bound and a fierce headache pounding out a rhythm through his skull, as the other three mercenaries poked and tripped him every step of the way. It was nothing but sport for them, to see how many times they could trip him up or how long he might last at a run before he collapsed with exhaustion. He knew he could escape with magic, but he didn't like his chances against all four nor the risk he might run if one happened to catch him at it and live to tell the damning tale. It was not a risk he was willing to take, not with all their attention on their new toy.

So he waited for the right opportunity. Three days it took. Three days of accumulating bruises and cuts, of pounding headaches and utter exhaustion, of no food and very little water. It wasn't until the third night that an opportunity arose. The second watch—the mercenary with a scar on the right side of his jaw just below the ear—started to doze off instead of entertaining himself by prodding Merlin with a stick anytime the boy looked like he was about to fall asleep. It was that change in events that filled the young warlock with adrenaline, giving him enough energy to think clearly and snap his bonds with a whispered word and a flash of gold in his eyes. And without any second thought or plan, he just started running.

Merlin lept over a fallen log, only to misjudge the height in his weakened state and crash to the ground with a thud. But he was back up and running in no time, hurtling—he was not stumbling, no way, if anything, he was sprinting majestically—his way between the trees not caring in the slightest where he was headed. He would figure that out later, once he had put enough distance between him and his captors.

He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't see the moving shadowin front of him until it was too late. A heavy weight crashed into him from above, rolling over him a couple times before settling upon his body, effectively pinning him to the ground. He struggled, fighting the man with everything he had left, even closing his eyes and allowing a bit of magic to seep into his muscles to give him extra strength. It didn't matter though because with a single whistle the other three men were there, assisting the first in rendering the warlock completely powerless and adding to the colorful display of bruises he had painting his body. He ceased struggling, seeing it was useless.

"Think he's had enough yet, brother?" The mocking tone cascaded over the servant's ears as he lay on the cold forest floor, trying his best to just breathe. If only his chest would stop that incessant painful burning. It was quite irritating really.

"He said he was stronger than he looked, earlier. I think he can take a little more," a second almost identical voice responded and Merlin could practically hear the sneer that accompanied it.

"Wait," another interrupted, taking a step back and pulling the leader with him as they sidled up next to one of the horses. _So thats how they caught up so fast,_ Merlin thought, mentally kicking himself for not remembering that small important detail. Not like he had thought much of anything at that moment except the need to escape. Definitely not one of his finer moments, that's for sure.

The two men leaned in together, the first whispering to the leader so low Merlin couldn't hear what he was saying. Not that it mattered, the blood was pounding so loudly in his head it was a miracle he could hear anything at all. But whatever was being said couldn't have been good, not for Merlin at least, for the leader's sneer only widened as the other man spoke before he glanced over to where the young warlock was still pinned and nodded in approval. Melin's dread only grew as the leader pulled his knife from his belt and approached the trapped warlock. He began struggling again, this time with renewed vigor but still not enough strength to free himself. His magic pulsed below his veins, wanting nothing more than to come to his aid. He pushed it down, but with only half certainty, still not completely sure if he wanted to fully surrender himself to whatever the men had planned.

Melin focused on the leader just as the man reached him, expecting to be toyed with beforehand. But it didn't happen. The leader dropped to his knees, straddling the young warlock and before Merlin knew what was happening, a stabbing pain shot through his right eye socket quickly followed by his left and the world went dark. He felt the power he had been holding at bay surge out of his body with a scream of pure agony and the weight of leader straddling him and those holding him down disappeared. Hot liquid flowed down his cheeks as blazing pain trembled through his sockets. He could hear distant screaming and it wasn't until his throat burned and the noise faltered that he realized he was the one producing it. With a great effort, he clamped his mouth shut, biting into his lip until he tasted blood while breathing heavily through his nose. He felt himself sinking, his hold on consciousness slipping even though his world was already dark, would always be dark now. It with that thought that Merlin let go and sank into the welcoming embrace of oblivion.

* * *

Darkness and throbbing pain. Not the most welcoming greeting back to awareness, in Merlin's opinion. He breathed in deeply, his nose suddenly bombarded with the metallic tinge of blood and moldy leaves. Blood? He coughed slightly, causing the a sharp pain to increase somewhere around his eyes as his head jostled with the movement. What happened? Merlin struggled to open his eyes, immediately stopping the action as agony ripped through him with the attempt.

It all came flooding back to him in a rush.

The mercenaries, the escape, the knife, and then the pain. Merlin sat up with a jolt, immediately regretting it as more pain spiked through his entire body reminding him of its abuse, his head especially helpful in making the young warlock's blood loss known as what's left of it stampeded through his skull in agonizing cadence. He almost passed out again, barely managing to hold onto consciousness as he felt his body sway dangerously in its sitting position.

After a few minutes, the young warlock slowly lifted his head from where it had apparently fallen to his chest as he rode out the pain. Darkness. That was all he could see. He knew he was in the forest, the smell of leaves and fresh air hidden under a layer of metallic surrounded him and the roughness of twigs and crinkling of dried leaves crunched under his fingertips. He was most likely in the same place he had been when he had been pinned to the ground. Obviously he hadn't been recaptured, seeing as his hands were free and he couldn't hear the jeers of the mercenaries. That meant he must have either killed them with that burst of magic or they up and fled. Merlin felt a pit of unease grow in his stomach. If they were alive, they could spread the word and he might as well forget all about Albion and destiny. Unease quickly grew into panic as his heart rate picked up and his breaths came out in quick short was it, this was how he was to be found out? He could feel himself slipping again, slowly falling back into the waiting arms of a huge effort, Merlin steadied himself, breathing in and out evenly until his panic subsided somewhat and awareness came back in full force—or as much as it had been before; the aches and pains were not very helpful. He couldn't think about the mercenaries now. There was nothing he could do about them.

Merlin slowly attempted to get to his feet, only to have a wave of vertigo crash over him sending him to his knees. It took grasping onto a tree for leverage and a good five minutes before Merlin was able to remain standing on his own. He needed to get away. Away from this place, away from this area, away from the feeling of dread that lingered here. He was blind. Maimed, lame, useless. But he needed to get away, get away, away, any sense of the direction he was heading, Merlin just started staggering forward, sliding his feet across the forest floor with his arms out in front of him, feeling from tree to tree. It was slow going but Merlin didn't care. All he knew was he needed to get away, hopefully back to Camelot, back to Arthur.

Arthur.

Despair flooded Merlin's heart as realization hit him and he almost stumbled to the forest floor again. He was blind now, every bit as useless as Arthur had always claimed him to be. Unable be of any help to anyone, including Arthur. Arthur, who needed him, needed his protection, his guidance unbenounced to him. Without Merlin, Arthur would fail and if Arthur failed, there would be no Albion, no peace for magic and non magic users. Destiny would be forfeit.

He could feel hot tears forming somewhere in his eye sockets.

He was more than useless now. He was nothing. No help to anyone, including himself.

Unless this was a part of destiny all along. Maybe Merlin was meant to be blinded, meant to struggle through the darkness to prove his worth and strength until he found the light again. Maybe he was meant get his sight back because surely destiny couldn't be so cruel as to require him to fulfill it blind. It wasn't possible. How could he protect Arthur if he couldn't see what he was supposed to be protecting him from? No, there had to be a spell, a healer somewhere who could restore his sight. There had to be.

* * *

Hours passed, or so it felt like to Merlin as he continued trudging through the forest clinging onto the tiny sliver of hope that was all he had left. His sense of time was just as accurate as his sense of direction, both of which had been shoddy enough before his capture. It could have been merely minutes or even days for all he knew. He didn't even know if it was day or night. He suspected day, as every once in awhile he felt a warmth through his jacket or on his hand that could only come from direct sunlight. It had been nighttime when he had lost consciousness but for all he knew he had been out for hours. Judging from the way his legs were burning, feet aching, and thirst and exhaustion climbing to an almost unbearable level, he suspected he had been traveling at this agonizingly slow pace for close to a day, a day and a half at most. Hours ago, he had tied his neckerchief around his eyes, almost like a blindfold, in order to at least cover the gaping wounds that surely rested there. There was no way he could handle an infection at this moment. He was barely staying upright as it was. Yes, he had rested when he needed, but never for more than a few minutes, not wanting to delay his journey to...wherever he was headed at the moment. He figured if he could just stumble across a village or a fellow traveler, he could eventually find his way back to Camelot.

The slither of a sword caused Merlin stop in his tracks, freezing in alarm. A soft crunch of leaves could be heard off to his left and behind slightly, barely audible over Merlin's own harsh breathing and blood pounding through his head. He hid behind the tree he currently had his hand resting upon, judging the direction of the stranger by sound and concealing himself appropriately. This did not sound like a friendly traveler. The sword was kind of a dead give away.

The footsteps approached slowly, the crunching of twigs and leaves underfoot the only hint, before stopping what Merlin assumed was a short distance from the tree he was behind.

"Show yourself," a painfully familiar voice commanded. Merlin could picture him already, standing feet shoulder length apart in battle stance, sword pointed in his direction, ready to take on a threat if one should arise from Merlin. But there was no need.

"Arthur," Merlin sighed in complete relief, feeling sharp stinging in his eye sockets as tears threatened to pool in their emptiness once more. He stepped out from behind the tree, keeping one hand on the rough bark in order to orient himself somewhat.

"Merlin! Where have—,"Arthur began before Merlin heard a sharp intake of breath. He tried to put a smile on his face, tried to wordlessly tell Arthur that it was okay, he was fine but the action wouldn't even grace his lips, unable to lie to himself, let alone Arthur.

Crunch of twigs and suddenly there were hesitant hands on his shoulders, comforting him and steadying him as he swayed where he stood, his body beginning to shut down with the onslaught of emotions, pain, and relief at finding Arthur. The king braced him, slowly taking more of the warlock's weight as his knees buckled with the loss of adrenaline.

"Merlin. What happened to you? You're bleeding. And what—" Arthur's voice was full of concern, barely concealing the anger that the warlock could clearly hear. Before he could say another word though he felt the neckerchief removed from his eyes, the rough fabric causing him to hiss in pain as it brushed upon sensitive areas.

Silence followed the removal of the cloth. It seemed to stretch on for hours but was only about a minute. Merlin couldn't take it anymore.

"I—," but the words refused to come and after a few seconds Merlin just clicked his mouth shut.

"I'll kill them. I'll kill them all. Just tell me who, Merlin," Arthur's voice was full of steel now, poison tipped daggers that would love nothing more than to slay all who stood in their way.

"It—it doesn't matter now." He had made it back to Arthur, that's all that mattered.

He could let go now. Let go of the strength he had been holding onto to keep him going. He had found Arthur. Or rather, Arthur had found him. Everything would be okay now.

Another lie, but this one he didn't even try to voice out loud instead just allowed oblivion to embrace him away once more.

* * *

**A/N:** I know, its a habit I have of putting Merlin through the worst. Can't help it. Sorry Merlin (not sure if that was heartfelt...). Next theme is Hunger Games. Have this baby all planned out so I'm SUPER excited! Might have to be a two or three parter if I wanna get it all down so hopefully it'll satisfy. But until then, have fun be safe and don't die!


	6. The Hunger Games (Part 1?)

**Title: **The Hunger Games (Part 1?)

**Words: **2,234

**Warnings:** angst, Hunger Games related themes, suicidal thoughts

******Disclaimer:** Still don't own Merlin no matter how many stars I wish upon

**Summary: **Merlin has been traveling the world searching and waiting for Arthur's return. He found himself in the US when it all began, the almost apocalypse, the rise of Panem and then the creation of the Hunger Games. Now he's fed up and ready to end it all and what better way for destiny to ensure that happens than for him to be reaped into the Games. Hunger Games/Merlin crossover

**A/N:** Some things had to be modified and changed as far as Hunger Games goes in order to go with the story I have written so just keep that in mind as you read and don't bite my head off for wrong facts...there's a reason they are different. Ok good...yeah...onward!

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"Merlin Emrys"

The moment his name had been called, the words echoing across the crowded square as everyone held their breath in silence so thick he could hardly wade his way through it to the stage, to his fate, was on repeat in his mind.

This was not what he wanted, but maybe it was for the best.

He had journeyed to the United States decades ago—now known as Panem—hoping for a new change of scenery and a break from the heartache that seemed to follow him around all of Europe. He had spent the last century—or was it two, he had lost count really—wandering around, searching for a purpose that could distract him. Waiting was not easy and with every year that passed he could feel himself losing the battle to keep going, to keep hoping that the Kilgharrah hadn't lied to him, that one day, his king would return and everything would be okay. But as his heart grew more and more heavy and no sign or hint of his return made an appearance, Merlin couldn't help but lose hope. Arthur hadn't returned. He may never return.

Merlin had been there, through all the changes the once proud United States had gone through and what was thought to be the end of the world. But Panem had gracefully risen from the ashes. He had been there through the establishment of the districts, the tyranny of the capitol and the president, the rebellion, and the creation of the Hunger Games. It wasn't pretty, if he was to be honest, and he made to leave the crumbling nation before things got nasty, but by then the districts were under lockdown and he couldn't get out even if he wanted. Yes, magic would have been an easy enough solution but Merlin had made a vow to himself, to Arthur, back in the early twentieth century when, with a small bit of magic, he had inadvertently started the domino effect that lead to the greatest and most devastating war to have ever occurred in history. Well, at the time at least. He was unable to see the future, unable to see that another World War was slowly building up, but the devastation of the first one was enough for Merlin to swear off magic—except the littlest of things and anything where Arthur was concerned.

He had enlisted, of course, uncaring which country he fought for but desperately needing to scrape the guilt off his consciousness that ate away at him every time the death toll and destruction was broadcasted. He had been so close to giving up everything then. It would have been so easy to just jump in front of the closest bullet and end it all. He had discovered early on, that while he may be immortal, may never age or get sick, he could actually die. He had felt it, felt the life—the lives, all of them—slipping away as he lay dying on the streets some century, sometime, someplace, due to some event that he couldn't remember now. It had only been thanks to his own quick thinking and his magic that he hadn't died yet. There had been a few close calls, more since he had sworn off magic—yes, saving his own life counted as helping out Arthur so he had used it—and this time would be no different. Except he would let everything happen without interfering.

But he didn't give up that war, he couldn't, for he had still held hope that Arthur would return, would grace the world—and Merlin—with his presence. So he had fought, almost died several times, pulled through, only to find himself facing another world war, this one worse than the first in his opinion—having been through the genocide of his kind on more than one occasion.

But that was all in the past now. Magic was now nothing more than a myth, a story to entertain children. And that's the way Merlin liked it.

A hand pushed on his back, where it had been resting, calmly guiding him to the train that would cart him away to what could be his death. He broke out of his thoughts, glancing around in confusion for a second before registering that they were now in the confines of the train. He had left District 9 behind.

He had enjoyed the District well enough. It reminded him of earlier times, in Ealdor when he had helped out in the fields, plowing, planting, tending, and harvesting the crops. It was the oppression, the starvation, the hardships that he and the members of his district had to go through. It was...painful. He itched to help out, to relieve some of the pain and misery that he saw every day and he did, but it was so little that not much difference was made. He needed to stay inconspicuous, unseen, unheard, just another shadow in the background, for if he didn't then people might notice that he never aged, he never changed, and the less magic he had to work, the better. It was one of the rare cases where he used magic that didn't involve him dying. A little poke here, a prod here and viola! They always believed he was the same age, every year, without question. He was above the reaping age so it mattered little to the Capitol. And he could work out in the fields which was all the other district members cared about. All in all he was left well enough alone as long as he didn't draw attention to himself.

That is, until now.

The 70th annual Hunger Games. A monumental event, in the words of President Snow. One to go down in the history books. Again. But really, it was a test. A test to see how the districts would react to sudden change in the rules—one completely unexpected unlike the Quarter Quells. Volunteering was banned. You get reaped, you're a tribute, end of story. It was a Hunger Games where even the 17 year-old tributes were the underdogs and had a higher probability of being killed off. A Hunger Games where the age limit had been raised to 25.

A Hunger Games where Merlin was eligible.

And the fates had decided that was the perfect opportunity they needed to give him more misery.

Each person age 19 to 25 had their name put in the bowl three times. His chances were not too bad but of course, the odds were not in his favor. They never were in his long life. So of course his name was pulled. It seemed only fitting really. Why should he get any kind of peace in his lifetime?

Which just led to this moment. The train was now moving, heading off toward the Capitol, toward what could very well be his death, magic or not. He should be panicking, he should be fearful for his life, but all he really felt was cold and resigned. Maybe this hell of waiting broken and alone would finally be put to an end. Just one shot is all it would take to end it all. Then he could finally rest, finally be free of all this. He could join his king in the afterlife. And Arthur wouldn't blame him, not really, it had been a fight to the death after all and he knew how shitty Merlin was with any sort of weaponry combat. Yes, this could be it. The end.

"Merlin, right?"

Merlin jumped at the sound of his name, whirling to the right to see his fellow District 9 tribute. Deva Sattler. He knew her, knew her like he knew everyone in his District—by face and only from a distance. Now up close, he noticed she was tall, for a girl, but not quite his height despite her 20 years of age, with dirty blonde hair that was pulled up and away from her face in a messy bun. Her eyes were nothing unusual, just a medium brown, but they had a certain malice to them that set Merlin off a little. And unlike the rest of the people in his District, she was not terribly thin, a sign that she was well off and cared for. Of course she was, she was the Mayor's daughter. Spoiled, pompous, and arrogant—well as much as anyone in the districts could be. A prat, he would have called her if the name wasn't reserved for another and only that other.

"Yeah," he responded, not quite sure why he was talking to her. He didn't want to get to know people, get to understand them and then have to watch them die. Not again. Just blend into the background and be ignored, that's all he wanted. And Arthur. Always Arthur.

Merlin heaved a shaky sigh.

"Don't worry, Merlin," Deva said, taking his sigh as a sign of nervousness and fear. "I'm sure it'll all be over in no time for you." The smile she flashed him was fake, almost cruel in its demeanor.

It took Merlin a moment to get over the shock of her words. But he never once lost the mask of composure that had taken root on his face since she had approached him.

"We shall see," was all he gave her in response. Secretly, he hoped she was right.

"Tributes! The reapings are on!" A masculine but unusually high pitched voice shouted from one of the front room of train car. Deva flashed Merlin one more smirk before sauntering after the summons. She was going to be troublesome, that one. Merlin shook his head, clearing his thoughts before following her albeit with less overconfidence. He could care less for his appearance right now. It didn't matter did it, not anymore. He sighed again, before stepping into the room.

Hendrix Pennington, the escort for District 9, a slightly pudgy and extremely made-up man with unnaturally colored skin and startling purple eyes that shone with enthusiasm and excitement, stood at the front of the room facing the projection that had just appeared upon the wall whose door Merlin had just entered through. The man lived for this time of year. For him, it was about the poise, projection, and appearance, the ability to make his tributes look and act their best before they were sent off to the slaughter house. It was disgusting really.

Deva was seated in a plush chair, facing the projection, a cocky smile still upon her face. Merlin could not figure out for the life of him why the hell she was so confident. They were tributes of District 9, whose industry was grain. Not really the top dogs of the Hunger Games. Anything but, really. And yet here Deva was, smiling like she owned the world, like she knew something Merlin didn't. And maybe she did. She was the Mayor's daughter after all, that must come with some insight and privilege to information. The whole thing was unnerving, really.

In the chair beside Deva sat a middle-aged man with short brown hair a muscled frame and light brown, almost hazel, colored eyes that shone with nothing but guilt, sadness, and overwhelming determination. Keyon Cyprus, the mentor for District 9. Despite the fact that District 9 had won only a single Hunger Games in the lifetime of the games, Keyon had always seemed determined enough to take up the mantle. He tried, really he did, but the man was clearly not meant for this role. He was not experienced, and in no way as tough as he probably should be—the man had won his games out of nothing but sheer luck when his three remaining opponents all died in one night from eating a poisonous tree root that one had claimed 'was completely edible'. But his fierce determination to get his fellow district members through the Hunger Games to live another day was enough to make him decent at his job. But determination alone had yet to save a tribute's life and the toll the losses had been taking on the man was clearly visible. He wanted nothing more than to hand the job over to someone else.

"Come, come, sit. It's starting!" Hendrix Pennington stood at the front of the room facing the projection that had just appeared upon the wall whose door Merlin had just entered through. He beckoned Merlin over to the last remaining chair, on Deva's right, with sickening enthusiasm that made Merlin want to vomit.

Merlin strode across the room just as the recap of District 1's reaping started up and sat heavily in the open chair. He didn't really care much for any of this. It didn't matter, did it? He wasn't planning on lasting long in the games anyway. This was his way out, his escape from the centuries of heartache and pain. Just simply let the games have their way with him and the end. No more waiting for a king that would never appear, for a promise that would never be fulfilled, for a heart that would never be whole. He had lost all hope.

But despite himself, Merlin's curiosity got the better of him and he glanced up at the reapings. And froze. There, standing upon the stage looking proud and confident, having just been freshly reaped into games that Merlin found himself a part of, blonde hair shining brightly in the morning sun, was...

"Arthur?!"

* * *

**A/N:** Hopefully "To Be Continued" if I ever get in the mood to finish it (reviews are very helpful in encouraging me to finish *hint hint*). May be before the next theme or after or yeah. Anyway the next theme is drugs. Shall be fun. Until next time friends...have fun be safe and don't die! :D


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